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Quick to take advantage of Hitchcock's easygoing ways, the Orioles became the playboys of the league, yukked it up at night—and skidded back to seventh place. Attendance plummeted —off 160,000 in 1962, another 16,000 last year. Hitchcock quarreled bitterly with sports writers, insisting: "They're trying to get me fired." Oriole players were openly contemptuous of Hitchcock. "What kind of manager does that?" snorted one player, after the Orioles dropped five straight, and Hitchcock cheerfully announced: "Boys, the beer's on me." Says General Manager Lee MacPhail: "I don't think everything that happened was Billy's fault. But a change had to be made."
MacPhail put in a call to Yankee Owner Dan Topping. Was Yogi Berra available for the job? No, Topping replied: Yogi was going to manage the Yankees in 1964. Then MacPhail sounded out Eddie Stanky—but Stanky wanted a long-term contract. Finally, MacPhail found his man right in the Baltimore dugout: Oriole Coach Hank Bauer. Said Bauer, "I don't know whether I'm the first, second, third or 20th choice for this job, but I'll say one thing—if it was offered to anyone else, they were crazy not to accept. It makes me feel good."
Make It Hurt. And Bauer obviously intended to keep that happy feeling. To make sure the Orioles knew how to spell boss, he made it extra-clear in his first and just about only clubhouse meeting. "I've got a job to do, and you've got a job to do," rasped Bauer. "I'm paid to manage, and you're paid to play." Next came Bauer's Rules of Behavior: a midnight curfew, jacket and tie at all times on the road, no drinking at the hotel where the team was staying.
Then there were Bauer's Rules of Play—no cute stuff, no tricks, just straightforward baseball. For pitchers: "When I come out to that mound, don't give me a lot of bull; just give me the ball." For outfielders: "Make damn sure you don't miss that cutoff man with your throw." For base runners: "Break up the double play. Go in hard. Make it hurt." Labor-management relations would remain cordial, he said, just so long as the employees remembered their place: "If I'm out somewhere and a player comes in, I don't want him to turn around and walk out just because I'm there. I expect him to say hello, have a drink—and then get out."
Standing there, studying that face, watching those traplike hands, the Orioles decided that Bauer was for real—at least, most of them. First Baseman Jim Gentile probably thought he was being funny when he walked up to Bauer last winter and grinned: "Hello, Hitler!" Gentile now labors for last-place Kansas City. Outfielder Willie Kirkland showed up three days late for spring training. Bauer fined him $100 for each day, then sold him to Washington—a comedown that could cost Willie approximately $10,000 in bonus money if the Orioles win the pennant. Three young players who missed a midnight curfew by 20 minutes got off with lighter sentences: two laps around the field, double time. "Just remember," said Bauer, "if you ream me, I got the last ream."